


For Lack of a Soul

by shaqb4



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaqb4/pseuds/shaqb4
Summary: After the war, an accident leaves Fleur and Harry with a bond that is both permanent and unasked for. Unwilling to let the bond destroy their futures, Fleur is determined to understand the man she is now connected to. But soul magic can leave the deepest scars, a fact that Harry is intimately familiar with, and the road to happiness is not an easy one.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 75





	1. Bonding

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome!
> 
> This is my take on the soul bond genre, done in a way that I think (hope) is unique. Most soul bond stories I've read have some kind of link between emotions and thoughts, or basically instant love with some token arguments/issues thrown in. I'm aiming to avoid the fairytale aspect of those stories and explore how two people would actually react in this situation, especially ones who already have their own issues/traumas to deal with.
> 
> It's written completely from Fleur's POV.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Fleur Delacour looked at the smiling faces surrounding her as if through a looking glass, unable to reconcile their happiness with her own state of detachment. They were in a great open hall, seats arranged in rows facing a wooden platform near the farthest wall from the entrance and with an aisle down the middle. Long tables laden with food and drinks were situated near the side walls, while the wedding cake had been placed on its own table by the main platform. Ron and Hermione had truly outdone themselves. No doubt Molly had had plenty of input.

It was still a few hours before the ceremony would begin, so the guests were milling around and mingling in any suitably open space they could find. She noticed Arthur and Molly in the corner, keeping an eye on things and talking with Charley and Bill. They were both beaming. A few feet away stood Neville and Hannah, speaking to a few other Hogwarts graduates she vaguely recognized from the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. She sighed and turned away, wondering if it would be too improper if she poured herself a drink so early. Most likely.

She was just about to do it anyway, consequences be damned, when a crash pierced the murmur of voices. Fleur flinched and whirled around, eyes wide and heart racing. She managed to stop herself from grasping her wand in her dress's pocket, but her breaths began to shorten and come out in shallow gasps. _Come on Fleur, keep it together._

She tried desperately to remember the calming exercise her best friend had taught her for situations exactly like this, her face swimming fruitlessly across her mind. Something about sitting down and breathing. She tried to focus on her friend’s voice, but it was too late. Each breath was too quick, she couldn’t breathe.

The closest chair was a few meters away. Fleur stumbled towards it wildly. Were people staring at her? She couldn’t tell, couldn’t form a coherent thought. All she could hear was the sound of shattered glass ringing in her ears. _No. Not again._ Her allure was slipping out of her control, fluctuating violently. Those men _were_ staring at her, but not just because of her strange behavior. Forget the chair, she needed to get out of this room, away from these people.

She tried to veer towards the exit, but her legs gave out at the sudden change in direction. Her hands managed to grab onto the edge of the chair and slow her fall, but her knees jarred on the hardwood floor. This seemed to be a signal for the thus far silent audience to converge on her, calling her name in worry, trying to help. “Fleur! What’s wrong?!” That sounded vaguely like Bill.

But her allure was still spiraling, and it was too much. She tried to take deep breaths to no avail. All it did was reinforce the fact that she couldn’t breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut against the voices and bodies around her, trying to ignore the terrible feeling of her allure latching onto those who were too close. _And would that glass please stop shattering?!_ Suddenly a voice was right in front of her, instructing her to take a breath. What did the person think she’d been trying to do? “Fleur. Focus on my voice. Breathe, just breathe with me. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.” It wasn’t helping and her allure began to focus on the new threat.

The voice hitched for a moment in response and her eyes snapped open. _Harry?_ His face was a foot away, wild around the eyes and her own widened to match. He looked almost as panicked as she felt, and the allure couldn’t be doing him any favors, but still he continued to speak. Her allure was completely focused on him now, no matter how hard she tried to rein it in.

“Fleur, you’re here with me. You’re safe, nothing is going to happen here. Focus on me. Good. Breathe.” Slowly, it began to work. Her lungs stopped burning, her breathing evened out, and the glass shattering finally stopped echoing through her senses. Slumping in relief, Fleur finally retracted her allure safely back into herself. It didn’t work.

She frowned and tried again. Once again, it refused to answer her call, like a thread caught on a hook that wood sooner break than come free. The panic threatened to come back, but she took a deep breath and let it out. A hand fell on her shoulder and Fleur looked up to find Harry looking at her in concern. He still looked rough around the edges, so she pulled herself together for his sake. “Thank you, Harry. Take your own advice and breathe.” She copied his earlier words until his body gradually began to imitate her own slumped posture.

Taking his hand from her shoulder, Fleur stood, making sure she was steady enough not to fall before helping Harry stand as well. She smiled at him, glad he was well enough to return it. Then she turned and noticed that nearly the entire wedding was standing around them and staring in some combination of shock, confusion or sympathy.

Harry shifted uncomfortably beside her and she resisted the urge to do the same. “We’ll… just be going now, then. Sorry.” She almost snorted at the dismal attempt at escape, especially when Molly stepped from the crowd.

“Harry dear, are you alright? Fleur? You couldn’t possibly be by yourselves after an episode like that. Here, come sit down and we’ll get you some water and food. Ginny, grab a couple glasses, would you?” Ginny, who had taken a few steps towards Harry, hesitated before nodding and beginning to turn away.

Fleur spoke quickly to prevent the endless mothering that was sure to come. “We’re fine, Molly. We don’t need water. I think we just need some space.” She glanced at Harry and he didn’t disagree, so she continued. “Ginny, thank you but we’ll grab something to drink on the way out.” The girl – woman, she corrected herself – looked affronted, but then looked between Fleur and Harry and deflated.

Molly, never one to give up so easily, tried again. “Are you sure? It’s really no trouble. You both look a bit peaky. Let me –”

“Mrs. Weasley, it’s fine. We’ll be fine. I’ll go keep Fleur company for a bit outside. We’ll be back before the ceremony starts.” The Weasley matriarch and Harry looked at each other for a moment and there must have been some kind of silent communication, because she stepped aside to let them pass. Fleur wondered what she’d seen to change her mind.

Taking this as their chance, Fleur started toward the hall’s exit with Harry beside her. She focused on placing one foot in front of the other, pausing only to let the crowd open for them. If anyone noticed her shaking, they were decent enough not to say anything. They reached the doors and Harry held the door open for her, ushering her into the clear sky and sunlight outside. It was early spring, so the temperature was too cold for comfort for her Veela preferences, but she still felt relief at leaving the smothering air inside.

The two walked in silence for a little while. He was clearly as unsure of what to say as she was. And her allure was still not behaving. It was grasping for Harry, but he didn’t seem to be affected by it. In fact, it didn’t seem like it was connected to him at all, but instead to… Fleur froze. _Impossible._ Mind racing, she frantically thought back to how it had felt when he had calmed her down. She’d thought her allure had attacked him as a threat, but that wasn’t it at all. It had reached out towards him because something inside him had reached out first. Something more than his magic.

“Fleur, are you alright?” Harry’s concerned voice brought her back to the present. This wasn’t the time for those thoughts, so she nodded quickly. Too quickly, she realized, because he raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Well that makes one of us. Was it the glass breaking when someone bumped the table? ‘Cause that’s what did me in. I thought for sure I’d break down if I hadn’t seen you beat me to it. So thanks, I guess. At least one person is more messed up than me.” He shot her a smirk that almost looked real and nudged her shoulder, clearly leaving an opening for her to talk about what had just happened if she wanted.

She rolled her eyes instead, fixing him with an unimpressed look as they walked along the yard towards the Burrow. The wedding hall had been erected outside the old house for the occasion. “Your skills at comforting could use some improvement, Harry.” He winced, and she almost laughed at his expression. Quickly, she squashed any signs of mirth before he noticed. “And I’ll have you know that I am best at everything I do. If I am ‘messed up’, as you put it, then of course my break downs are bigger and better than anyone else’s. Even Harry Potter’s.” Here she gave him her most haughty expression, chin lifted, and continued walking even after Harry had frozen.

She counted two steps before turning around. The look of absolute disbelief he showed finally broke her façade and a laugh escaped before she could stop it. His face morphed into one of confusion, then cleared as realization set in. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it slightly, and let out a huff of amusement. “I deserved that, didn’t I?” Fleur couldn’t help but notice that happiness was a good look for the boy-turned-man, and one she hadn’t often seen on him.

She smiled back at him. “Yes, you did.” They started walking again, this time in a comfortable silence until they reached the entrance to The Burrow.

They let themselves in since everyone was at the pre-wedding ceremony gathering, then she drew her wand and with a few flicks had two glasses of water floating into the sitting room where they stood. Harry gratefully accepted his with a nod, sitting down on the nearest couch and taking a few sips. She joined him, placing the glass on the round table in the center of the room between the many couches and chairs.

The silence became less comfortable, dragged down by heavy topics left unacknowledged. The Weasley family clock ticked steadily, until finally the silence became unbearable. “Harry, what you did back there was…” Shattering glass flashed through her mind and her breath caught. She briefly considered lying and saying she was fine, that her panic attack had been a fluke, but they both knew it wasn’t true. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.” Harry turned towards her at the soft words, gaze unreadable.

Fleur searched for any sign of pity or judgement at how broken she must appear, and something within her unclenched when she found none. She was grateful for that, but this was not the person she remembered saying goodbye to all those years ago before the end of the war. Harry had been an open book then, and she worried about what had changed to make him so guarded and fragile. To make him so like her.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. I should be thanking you. I was serious when I said I almost broke down myself. You must have seen.” He took another sip of water, holding the glass like a shield between them. “It was nothing, we’re even. Besides, us Tri-wizard champions have to stick together. Merlin, it’s mental what we had to do in that tournament. Bloody dragons.” He shook his head in mock irritation, making her grin.

The subject change was hardly subtle, but she let it go. After all, she wasn’t exactly eager to talk about her own emotional traumas. Plus, it felt nice to joke about the tournament with someone who understood and had been there. It was obvious they were both using humor to avoid something painful.

“If I remember correctly, Harry, it was only your dragon that managed to break free and chase you halfway across Hogwart’s grounds. I admit, it was quite the sight. Only you could have managed to make a fight with a dragon even more dangerous than it already was. And with just a broom, no less!” Struck by inspiration at the memory and always keen to do magic, she drew her wand and transfigured a few knickknacks lying on the table into a Hungarian Horntail and a vaguely Harry-shaped figure on a broom.

Fleur concentrated and with another gesture animated the dragon to flap into the air and the miniature Harry to lift off, flying away from the scaled down creature. To round it out, she gave Harry’s double a ridiculous expression of terror when it turned its head back towards the dragon every couple of seconds. She directed it to fly around the real Harry’s head, relishing in the experience using her skills for something so innocent.

The target of her re-creation had straightened, his eyes lighting up at the frivolous use of magic, thoroughly distracted from their earlier, depressing topic of discussion. “No, no, no, you’re remembering it all wrong. I always thought I was more of a dashing knight saving the princess.” With a wide grin, he raised his own wand, paused, then began his own set of additions to the scene.

The broom riding figure distorted as silver armor grew from its surface, helmet and all. Another flick of his wand and the now knighted Harry was holding up a tiny sword in a motion that could only mean, “Charge!”. Fleur leaned in, curious to see what he would change next.

A moment later, a small breath of fire leapt from the dragon’s mouth and she smiled in appreciation. The knight rushed through it, sword held aloft, and stabbed at the beast’s scales ineffectually before finding purchase through the roof of its mouth. It was a little gruesome for the otherwise playful scene, if she was honest, but she supposed there wasn’t any nice way to slay a monster with a sword. The reenactment ended with the dragon falling dramatically onto the table with a thud, the knight landing next to it and posing heroically. “There. Much better.” Harry nodded his head in satisfaction.

She looked at the display in front of them, then looked back up at Harry. “Oh, Harry,” she said sadly. “I believe you are delusional.” He snorted.

“I don’t know what you mean, that was completely historically accurate.” He gestured towards the armored Harry for emphasis. They locked eyes and then both burst out laughing, basking in the suddenly light atmosphere after the past minutes. _I think we both needed this._ She certainly had. It had been a long time since she had been able to relax and simply forget.

It was at this moment that they heard a cough, bringing them both to attention, though their smiles seemed stuck to their faces. Neville was standing in the doorway, clearly unsure of what to make of the spectacle in front of them. He was eyeing the dead dragon and knight on the table skeptically. “Er, the ceremony is going to start soon. I was sent to fetch you two and check if you were alright.” His eyebrows rose and his lips quirked, gaze flickering between them. “I’d say you both look alright to me.” And then he left, apparently not needing or wanting an explanation.

Fleur and Harry glanced at each other somewhat sheepishly and then began the process of cleaning up their mess. Props were returned to their original forms, while water glasses were cleaned and returned to the kitchen cabinet they had come from. Once done, they exited The Burrow and walked side by side back to the newly erected hall. The prospect of joining all the guests began to dampen her joy as they got closer, imagining how the guests would whisper behind their hands, but she was comforted knowing that Harry would be there, even if he was the Best Man and wouldn’t be in the audience with her.

Reaching the doors to the large shelter, Fleur stopped next to Harry. “Thank you again for the company, Harry.” She hesitated, unsure if she should say anything more, but the thoughts she’d been avoiding about her allure’s strange behavior earlier pushed her on. “I know we have not seen each other much since… everything, but I would not be opposed to seeing you more often.” She cringed internally. That had sounded cold and distant, even to her own ears.

But he just smiled and nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she imagined the flash of unease in his eyes or the sudden tension in his stance. “You know where to owl me. See you later, Fleur,” he said and then slipped inside. Immediately, he was swept away by Ron’s elder brothers, no doubt to prepare for their wedding responsibilities, and had just enough time to give her one last wave before disappearing into a larger group, presumably of close friends and family to Ron and Hermione.

Suddenly alone again, she glanced around and decided to find a seat in favor of entering one of the ongoing conversations around her. Seeing Neville and Hannah seated near the front, she made her way over and began speaking with the couple about unimportant things. Whenever she began to feel confined or the sound of glass clinking reached her, she’d remember Harry’s voice next to her, calming, or the easy way he’d made her laugh and feel normal in The Burrow, and then she would feel, if not fine, then better.

Eventually, everyone was urged to take their seats and the ceremony finally commenced. It was beautiful and heartwarming. Hermione was radiant in a light blue dress that accentuated her features, hair curled to fall deliberately around her shoulders. Ron, in classic dark dress robes, looked absolutely smitten with her and Fleur couldn’t blame him. She didn’t think she had ever seen two people look so happy with each other. Meanwhile, Harry stood to the side, out of the way, with a fond smile for his two oldest friends. She didn’t want to admit that she spent more time looking at him than the soon to be newlyweds. He cleaned up nicely.

However, throughout it all, the thoughts she was trying to bury kept bubbling to the surface until she wasn’t paying attention the wedding at all. The allure she had gotten so used to keeping under control had changed. She had barely been paying it any attention, but it hadn’t spread out to affect the guests around her. It wasn’t gone, just… different. As if it was no longer constantly searching for a target. As if it no longer needed to, because it had found what it was looking for. Afraid she knew why, she glanced at Harry again and foreboding made her insides twist.

When Harry had sat in front of her and soothed her panic, she had lost absolutely all control over her allure. It hadn’t begun to focus on him by chance, he had reached out a part of himself and connected with it in order to protect both her and her unknowing victims. And that… that should have been impossible. She was sure of it.

A Veela’s allure was more than a magical ability, it was an extension of her very soul, a fact that Veela guarded very seriously for fear that they would be persecuted even more if wizards knew they were being subjected to subconscious soul magic. Soul magics had a dangerous stigma attached to them. Rightly so, she thought. She shuddered to think what would happen if it ever became common knowledge and her wonder at the connection hardened as she was reminded of how precarious the situation was.

No. She had to be careful. She couldn’t afford to blunder her way through without any thought for the consequences. Both personal and wider reaching. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply, ignoring the drone of the wedding officiator on the platform. Only one thing could have affected her allure, and that was a foreign soul. Harry’s soul. In trying to help her, he had accidentally formed a bond that could not be undone.

It wasn’t the instant mingling of mind and body that that countless silly myths and fairytales portrayed. Fleur almost sneered at the ridiculousness. _Soul mates, indeed._ It wasn’t that happily-ever-after, but it was a start. And it was powerful. She could not simply drop it on him and expect him to react well, especially when she herself was barely holding it together.

It removed her choices as much as it did his, and she had spent her entire life fighting for the right to make those choices. She pushed down the ugly emotions taking shape inside her. Those feelings were not helpful. _It_ _was an accident_ , she reminded herself. Neither Harry nor herself were at fault and nothing could be done now. Better to take a step back before doing anything rash.

Repeating that in her mind periodically, Fleur focused on the wedding again. Harry had just given the ring to Ron, along with a few quietly spoken words that she wasn’t able to catch. Despite her own emotions, looking at him now, joy and pride written in practically every line of his body, Fleur couldn’t help but think that maybe sharing part of herself and life with him wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	2. Family

It was Saturday morning, exactly a week since the wedding, and Fleur had still not written to Harry. Every day she readied a piece of parchment and a quill, only to stare at it in frustration, words refusing to coalesce from her chaotic emotions. How could she possibly tell him about the bond in a way that he might accept or understand? It was laughable.

Her quill was hovering over the parchment, reflecting her internal state of limbo until, slowly, a droplet of ink fell onto the blank piece. Fleur sighed. _I’m being ridiculous. Not writing isn’t going to help anything._ Still, worry plagued her.

She could already feel an itch at the edge of her awareness, a feeling of something extra. Something that had not been there before. Linked souls did not care about distance, it seemed, and she wondered what would happen if the tether between them had time to strengthen.

The image of Harry feeling the same itch, not knowing what it was, replaced her hesitancy with a sudden urgency. _What am I doing?! There’s no time for this._ She could figure out the perfect words later, in person. Blinking and shaking her head, she cleared the rogue ink blot and dipped her quill once more.

_Dear Harry,_

_It has come to my attention that we have not spent nearly enough time together and would like to rectify that if you would be willing._

She immediately removed the end of that sentence, scoffing at herself. It didn’t matter if he was willing, there was no reason to pretend otherwise. She continued.

_You were surprisingly good company at The Burrow – massive ego not withstanding; you clearly remember the dragon differently than I do – and I was hoping you'd join me on a trip to Diagon Alley to buy some supplies. Since moving near the main Alley, I have found some interesting shops that we could look at._

Fleur eyed the parchment dubiously for a moment, then removed the information about living near the Alley. Where she lived was no one’s business and putting the information in an owl message would be foolish.

_If not, I would settle for a simple dinner. We have years to catch up on!_

_Hope you are well,_

_Fleur_

It was not a work of art, but it would do. _Besides, I don’t know enough about Harry to make it more personal._ She was rationalizing, but she rolled up the letter for sending anyways before stiffly standing up at her desk that was tucked into the corner of her flat.

Her barn owl stared inquisitively at her as she made her way over to his window perch. Tying the letter to his leg, she instructed him to take it to Harry, watching until he disappeared into the sky. Now that the letter was sent, Fleur closed her eyes and mentally prepared for what she had to do next. Part of her wondered if taking a week to write a letter had been her subconscious attempting to put off the coming talk.

Still in front of the window, her fingers tapped at her hip, stopped, flexed, and repeated the motion in a choppy rhythm until she forced herself to cut it off. The view outside, filled with houses and the odd converted flat, did nothing to tide her growing anxiousness. There were people she hadn’t told about her situation, and Fleur could not imagine her family’s reactions when she came home with such news. They had all thought – hoped – that the consequences of that night two years ago were behind them.

There was nothing for it. Fleur turned towards the fireplace, saying goodbye to the peaceful scene behind her. Quiet would soon be in short supply.

With a quick straightening of the shoulders, a fortifying breath, and a firm - she’d like to believe – “Delacour Residence!”, she was off. After spinning through a whirl of fireplaces and noise, she stepped out into the waiting area of her childhood home, its familiar colours and decor injecting her anxiousness with a dose of comfort. “Maman? Gabrielle?” Better to start with them than her father, if possible.

A moment later a cry of “Fleur!” reached her and her little sister ran into the room, trying and failing to look graceful about it, white sundress whipping around her. Gabrielle’s lack of elegance did not slow her down at all, because she was soon holding onto Fleur with the kind of careful yet aggressive hug that only she could pull off. It was certainly different than the gentle embrace of her mother or the quick squeeze of her father.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t think you were visiting until next week!” Gabrielle slipped away just as quickly as she’d come, stepping back to look up at her – barely, she was only an inch shorter than Fleur, now – with happiness.

That happiness quickly transformed into a sharp look as she took her in, either noticing something off or simply so used to worrying that it was second nature at this point. “Did something happen?”

Fleur smothered the flash of annoyance that her sister’s tone sparked. She had known and prepared for her family’s reactions, but she hadn’t even told them what had happened yet, and they were already worrying. “I’ll tell you everything once Maman is here. Is she home? And Papa?” Just a natural question, nothing to indicate that a life altering event had occurred.

Gabrielle appeared to humour her after another moment of scrutiny. “Maman is baking in the kitchen and Papa is in his study.” A knowing grin formed on her sister’s face. “To the kitchen, then?”

Fleur sighed. “Yes.” The two of them began walking through the halls side by side. Fleur felt a pang of nostalgia when she remembered the times when little Gabby would follow behind her wherever she went, excited to be around her older sister. Those days were long gone.

All too soon, they crossed the kitchen threshold and Gabrielle sat down at the island, probably to watch the coming drama. _Well, she won’t be disappointed._ Her mother turned when they entered, an array of baking sheets and ingredients behind her and a smile lighting her face when she saw Fleur, before striding over to enclose her in a deep hug. “You’re back early. You should have said something, we would have had food waiting.”

Maman pulled back with another blinding smile and ushered her to a seat next to Gabrielle at the island, but Fleur shook her head before she could lose control of the conversation. “Actually, I didn’t really plan on coming. Something... Well, something happened.” And there it was, the flicker of fear and concern she couldn’t escape since the incident. Her mother’s eyes flickered over her quickly, looking for any sign of pain or trauma.

“You don’t look hurt.” Her mother looked up from her search, hesitant. “Is your apartment safe? You weren’t attacked?” The “again” was left unspoken.

Fleur's jaw clenched. “No, I wasn’t attacked.” Her voice sounded muted to her own ears and she let out a breath. Moving the conversation along, she turned to Gabrielle. “You should be happy. Harry is involved. In fact, you’ll probably be seeing a lot more of your hero.” _Assuming he'll having anything to do with me._ The voice rose unbidden, overriding her attempts to keep it quiet.

Gabrielle’s eyes lit up. “What do you mean? I know you went to that Weasley wedding.” Her eyebrows rose suggestively. “Did you two get to _catch up?”_

_Merlin save me from little sisters._ Fleur gave Gabrielle a flat look. “Oh, we certainly did that. It was quite life changing.” Her sibling’s eyes widened, a hand rising to her mouth, whether in shock or to smother a giggle, Fleur wasn’t sure. It was her mother’s reaction that would stay in her mind for a long time as a happy memory.

Her mouth had fallen open, expression cycling between scandalized and amused, clearly stuck on whether to scold her daughter or laugh. Fleur was thankful once again that her father was not in the room.

Finally, she managed a choked “Fleur!” before falling speechless again. Amusement had won, Fleur thought, because her smile had returned, a rye tinge added in. “Stop teasing your sister. I assume you didn’t come home early just to share your latest rendezvous, as unique as this one may be.” Fleur reddened at the statement, and her mother paused. “Did you?”

“I wish that was all we had done,” she muttered, sobering. Her sister and mother exchanged alarmed looks.

“What could you two have done beyond that?!” Gabrielle was leaning forward, now in interrogation mode.

Fleur leaned back from the proximity, thinking quickly how to word this, what she had come here to say. She quickly discarded the blunt approach, deciding on a more subtle easing in. “You know I don’t always do well in crowds, since the attack.” They nodded. “My allure doesn’t always stay contained, when I get like that.” More nods. Her family had seen first-hand how she could get. She could already feel the pity in her mother’s gaze. Fleur resolutely ignored it.

“I reacted poorly at the wedding, and Harry managed to calm me down.” She stopped for a moment in remembrance of his own reaction. “I don’t know what happened to him during or after the war, but whatever it was must have affected him deeply. He didn’t just calm me down. He did something, reached out.” Her lips twisted as the emotions came flooding back at what she was about to say out loud, the fury and hope mixed with helplessness and self-loathing. “My allure reached back.”

Her mother was frozen, eyes searching hers for confirmation of whatever idea – most likely correct - had taken hold, and her expression crumpled at what she found as understanding settled. “You deserve so much more than what this world has given you.” Fleur stood still as her mother held her, fruitlessly trying to protect her from what had already happened, while Gabrielle looked between them at a loss.

“What do you mean it reached back?” There was something indecipherable in her voice, a small waver, perhaps another piece of her shattered faith in Fleur slipping through.

Still within her mother’s arms, bitter at being forced to spell it out, Fleur answered without thought. “What I mean is that something inside of Harry is fundamentally damaged, and whatever it is found something equally damaged inside of me. We’re stuck together because our souls are so unstable that they latched on to the closest thing they could.” Fleur’s fists were clenched now, whole body taut, and her mother had backed away. “What I _mean_ is that I’m now permanently connected to Harry Potter and neither one of us can do anything about it!” Her voice had risen, great breaths heaving in and out.

Gabrielle’s expression had closed off, her body hunched slightly as if to ward off a blow, and Fleur felt a trickle of guilt flow in. _None of this is her fault._ Before she could apologize, though, her sister straightened and strode out of the kitchen. Fleur noticed her mother’s chastising look and the guilt grew to a flood. “She has never forgiven me for being weak.”

“If you truly believe that, then you haven’t had a proper talk in too long,” her father’s voice rang from the doorway. She closed her eyes, body drooping. He must have heard the whole rant, childish as it was.

“Hello Papa.” She looked at him, forcing a smile. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I had hoped to be tactful about letting the three of you know.” Then, under her breath. “Clearly my execution was lacking.”

His gaze remained unamused, though it softened slightly as he gave her his customary hug before joining her mother, which, if Fleur was being honest with herself, was a reasonable reaction to what she had just revealed. She had butchered this conversation entirely, despite her plans. At least it was out in the open now.

Her mother was the first to break the silence. “I suggest you talk with Gabrielle after we finish. I think it’s time you two cleared up whatever issues you may have. She has graduated and you are both adults, and, more importantly, sisters. Behave like it.” It was said with a mild voice, all the easier to slip through her barriers, and Fleur winced, pushing down the urge to object. Her mother was right.

“I do not think it’s that simple, but I will speak with her.” Fleur watched her father, standing beside her mother in a united front. They were practiced at this. “And Papa? What do you have to say?”

He stayed silent, leaning against the kitchen counter behind him, and she waited for him to gather his thoughts. _Here it comes. Stay nimble, Fleur._ This could go in any direction. “I understand that knowledge about the magic that Veelas are born with is heavily guarded,” he started carefully. “But from what you said I gather it has something to do with the soul.” She wasn’t sure if she imagined his eyes flickering to her mother and back. Fleur guessed they would be having their own private conversation later about the implications of that knowledge.

“Is there truly no way to break this… connection, as you called it?” Fleur reared back at the idea of tampering with her soul, let alone someone else’s, horror surging through her. The feelings were mirrored on her mother’s face and their thoughts must have been obvious because he continued before either of them could express their revulsion. “Okay. In that case, how well do you know Harry and what will you two do now?”

Fleur blinked at the sudden shift, unprepared, the swell of emotion disappearing as quickly as it had come. He raised his eyebrows in expectation. Nothing acceptable came to mind, so she attempted to stall by shifting her gaze to the window behind her parents. Nothing. It really was quite nice out, with sunlight streaming into the kitchen and a breeze riffling the trees outside the house. _Maybe I’ll ask Gabrielle to take a walk with me for our talk._

“Fleur?” He prompted.

What were she and Harry going to do now? _This was why I wanted to speak with Maman and Gabrielle first._ Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face because her mother, observing, suddenly snorted. Fleur glared at her in accusation before turning to look at her father.

It had been a relatively quiet conversation so far, surprisingly so, but it was not going to last. “I hardly know him at all,” she admitted. “Before the wedding, I hadn’t talked to him in years. Not since before everything was over, and he was still a child then.” Thinking of what little she knew about him, she continued. “In age, at least.”

As expected, her parents were not pleased with this answer, her father drawing up in directionless anger and her mother lowering her head in grief, a sharp contrast to her earlier levity. Fleur felt her lips curl at their reactions, as if they had expected anything different, the bitterness taking even herself by surprise. _There’s no happy ending for them to find._ She needed to make them see that.

Setting her shoulders, she met her father’s narrowed eyes. She knew his anger wasn’t directed at her and no small part was likely from helplessness. “There’s no silver lining to this story. My life is different than it was a few days ago, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. I’m not telling you about this bond so that you can try to fix it. I’m telling you because you are my family and Harry is now a part of my life, whether you like it or not, and you need to accept that.” She looked away. “We _all_ need to accept that.”

A deep breath calmed her shaking enough to focus back on her parents. Her father was no longer leaning on the counter, instead making aborted movements as if stopping himself from pacing, until finally his hands fell still at his side. Her mother, who had always struggled more internally, was watching him for signs of an outburst, ready to intervene. She seemed to have a better handle on the situation, but it was hard to tell with her.

Finally, he spoke. “Harry Potter, one of the most public figures in the wizarding world, and a stranger, is being forced into your life as... as what? A close friend? A prisoner? That’s what the world will think when they find out their hero was bound to a Veela against his will. And you’re asking me, us, to do nothing?” His body was turned from her, voice strained in a way Fleur had never heard.

“Yes. If resisting the urge to fix what cannot be fixed is doing nothing, then do nothing. Just be here to catch any pieces that fall through the cracks.” Harry’s emotionless mask and almost-smiles flashed through her mind again. “And do the same for Harry. I don’t think he is quite as whole as people think.”

He was staring distantly at the kitchen wall, unblinking and unmoving, stuck in some internal debate, but her mother had relaxed, and so Fleur did as well. If anyone could read him, it was her.

Still, after another moment her mother reached out to touch his arm, either in comfort or as a reminder that they were still here, perhaps both. He leaned into the contact with a frown, focused once more on Fleur. “I’m not happy, but I understand. I will try. But my priority will always be you, not him.”

His sincerity pulled a relieved smile from her, warmth bubbling up at the love her parents showed her without fail. “Thank you, Papa. Though, I’m not sure how long that distinction will matter.”

At his confused glance, she continued. “A bond like this may affect people in unexpected ways. It is entirely possible what will be good or bad for one of us will be good or bad for the other, in some way beyond normal empathy among friends. I don’t believe much is known about how such connections really work. They are not common, and the soul is not exactly something most would feel comfortable having studied.”

She looked at her mother for confirmation, who nodded. “You’re right. I know of only a few recorded examples of such a bond, most with a Veela as one partner due to the… unique way our soul manifests. The records are mixed, at best. Some were bonds between those who were already intimate. Others were like you and Harry, accidents, or forced upon them by someone else. Dark wizards eager to experiment with the soul.”

Fleur felt disgust at the knowledge that such things had happened, suddenly thankful that whatever could be said about her and Harry’s situation, Harry was about as far from a dark wizard as one could get. No one had used either of their souls as test subjects.

A niggling worry about how little she knew the man reminded her that a lot could change in a few years. As she had told her parents, she did not know much about him. Fleur squashed the feeling. He had been there for her, and more importantly, had understood. _Secrets and trauma do not make him a dark wizard_ , she chided herself, preventing the uneasiness from appearing for her parents to see. _After all, he could say the same about me._

Returning to the conversation, she watched her father nod his head slowly. “I see,” he said. Fleur observed him, thinking that maybe he did see. He had always been good about accepting things for what they were, after the initial storm of emotion. It was surviving the storm fully intact that was the trick. Fortunately, this had been a relatively mild reaction, all things considered. For that reason, she was hesitant to let her guard down.

Perhaps it would be best to end the conversation quickly. “Thank you for not making this harder than it already is.” She looked between them, ensuring they knew how grateful she was. They smiled back sadly, then, together, closed the distance between the three of them. Her father reached her first, placing his hands on her shoulders and bending to kiss her forehead like he had when she was younger, before wrapping his arms around her.

Her mother joined a moment later, and Fleur closed her eyes, falling into their comfort. “We love you. You’ll figure this out, like you always do,” her mother whispered before letting go and stepping back. Over her father’s shoulder, they made eye contact and Fleur was suddenly alert at her mother’s severe demeanour. “We would, of course, like to meet Harry as soon as possible.”

Taken off guard, Fleur reeled back and opened her mouth, then closed it. An amused smile on his face, her father twisted and leaned towards his wife to murmur something in her ear, to which she rolled her eyes and smirked.

Fleur, slightly indignant at their having a private conversation while she watched, one that likely did not bode well for her, shook off her bout of speechlessness. “You can meet Harry as soon as we both agree to it. We have our own issues to figure out. Not the least of which is warn him about you two.” Their widening smiles did not make her feel any better about the future meeting.

She winced. “It would, however, be prudent to perhaps have you along when he – we – tell Mrs. Weasley about what’s happened.” The thought that he already knew about the bond and had told the tyrannical woman on his own was frightening.

His surrogate mother would never let him go and would probably hate Fleur in the meantime. Using the thought as an excuse to escape, she quickly said her goodbyes.

“I’ll go check on Gabrielle. I’ll visit again when I normally do.” Their laughter followed her quick pace out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her sisters’ room. She resolved to contact Harry as soon she got home, in person if she had to. No more delaying or waiting for owl responses.

With that in mind she knocked impatiently on the wooden door. When no answer came after a few seconds, Fleur knocked again. When there was still no response, she finally concentrated on the present and her sister. “Gabrielle? I’m sorry I snapped at you. Can we take a walk together?”

Silence.

Then Gabrielle’s voice reached her, barely audible. “Not now, Fleur.” That was it, silence falling once again.

She looked through the door, uncomprehending. _What?_ Unsure whether to push and knock again, she leaned her forehead against the smooth wood. “I’m trying,” she whispered. This was a gap she didn’t know how to bridge.

She made her way to the fireplace downstairs, limbs heavy with the memories of every painful word between them, and anger at her own failure to be what her sister deserved.

Murmuring her home address, she disappeared in a flash of green flame and stepped out into her own living room. Unable to contain it anymore, she stumbled to her couch, put her head in her hands and took deep, shuddering breaths. All the feelings she had tried so hard to control during the conversation with her family were boiling over, pushed over the edge by the blow of her sister’s rejection.

There was just so much to fix. Images of Gabrielle and Harry flashed through her mind. Fleur glared at the wooden floor, suddenly ashamed of herself for a whole new reason. _I only just resolved to find Harry and do what needs to be done, yet here I am doing absolutely nothing because of other mistakes I’ve made._

This pattern of wallowing in self-pity, that she had fallen into without realizing, couldn’t continue. Too much was at stake. She gathered herself, bullying her swirling thoughts back into place before she stood and made herself presentable. There was an emotionally distant man and his overbearing pseudo-mother to find.


End file.
